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GEESE WILD AND TAME.

not be very sharp or long-sighted, must lay his account with being taken-mistaken-for a prodigious gander—within a few stone-weight of that greatest of all ganders-the Glasgow gander-who ought to have his long neck broken for hissing at Sir Walter Scott.' The geese in whose company he was walking at the time of the assault, could not stomach in their mighty hearts the affront of being insulted in the person of him their sultaun-and instanter stretching themselves all up on their splay-feet that love the mud, and all at once flapping with their wings the oozy shallows, they gave vent to their heroic indignation in more ways than it would be pleasant or proper to describe to the disturbed wonder of the neighbourhood, and, if the truth were known, to their own astonishment.

Shepherd. Do you ken, sir, that I admire guses - tame guses - far mair nor wild anes. A wild guse, to be sure, is no bad eatin, shot in season out o' season, and after a lang flicht, what is he but a rickle o' banes? But a tame guse, aff the stubble, sirs-(and what'n a hairst this 'ill be for guses, the stooks hae been sae sair shucken!)-roasted afore a clear fire to the swirl o' a worsted string - stuffed as fu's he can haud frae neck to doup wi' yerbs-and devoored wi' about equal proportions o' mashed potawties, and a clash o' aipple sass- -the creeshy breist o' him shinin outower a' its braid beautifu' rotundity, wi' a broonish and yellowish licht, seemin to be the verra concentrated essence o' tastefu' sappiness, the bare idea o' which, at ony distance o' time and place, brings a gush o' water out o' the pallet-his theeghs slightly crisped by the smokeless fire to the preceese pint best fitted for crunchin— and, in short, the toot-an-sammal1 o' the Bird, a perfeck specimen o' the beau-ideal o' the true Bird o' Paradise, for sic a guse, sir―(but oh! may I never be sae sairly tempted)-wad a man sell his kintra or his conscience — and neist day strive to stifle his remorse by gobblin up the giblet-pie.

North. To hear you speak, James, the world would take you for an epicure and glutton, who bowed down five times a-day in fond idolatry before the belly-god. What a delusion! Shepherd. What does the silly senseless world ken about the real character o' the puir Ettrick Shepherd, ony mair than 1 See ante, vol. ii. p. 30, note 2.

2 Tout-en-semble.

SOLEMN SYMPATHIES.

83

about that o' puir Lord Byron. But you, sir, ken baith his by metafeesical intuitions, that see intil a man's sowl through the works o' his inspired genie, and the acts o' his distrackit life-though fate and fortune, doom and destiny, keepit ye twa far asunder a' the time that the noble Childe was driven along existence like the rack flyin overhead on the stormy skies, and mine by that intercommunin o' a' high thochts and high feelings, sir, that, far far apairt frae a' fun and frolic, and wut, and humour and glee-(yet they, too, are in their season suitable, and tell tales aften no safe to be repeated o' secrets slumberin amang sorrows deep doun in that

Strange tumultuous thing the human heart”) -hae aften given to the hollows o' the hills, where we twa hae walked thegither, far frae the ways o' man, frae the risin to the settin sun, the consecration as of some mighty temple.Yes, Mr North, till all the visible region baith o' the earth and the heavens-the ane beautifu', beyond a' expression. beautifu', wi' its gently undulating sea o' hills, greener than ony water-sea that ever rolled in sunshine, and aften, in glorious blinks, also purpler far, when the heather heights, suddenly light-smitten, coloured all the day with the lustre beaming from their gorgeous mantle,-and the ither, as we lay like sleepers on the sward-dreamers but no sleepers wewith half-shut eyes undrowsily watching the slow passing-by of the drowsy clouds, and drinkin in, wi' nae impatient thirst, but wi' a tranquil appetite divine, the blue liquid beauty o' the stainless ether the ither, North, seeming, indeed, to deserve the holy name of heaven, whither, had I had wings of a dove, I would have flown away and been at rest; for thou, my friend, knowest, even as I know, that, except in those regions, rest there is none for us poor sons of a day,”—and that thocht, sir, that keeps ebbing and flowing for ever in the silence and the solitude o' our sowls, gies a sanctity to the great sky-bow that bends over us, when it is strung in peacefu' beauty that changes a' creation into ae vast Place o' Worship.

North. Mere painted air!

Shepherd. Weel do I ken, sir, that it's naething else! Yet holy in my eyes has ever been what in Scotland we ca' "the lift," even as the Bible lyin open, during the hour of service,

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THE DUTY OF A BIOGRAPHER.

on my father's knee! Nae senses have we to penetrate into infinitude and eternity. Frae such ideas do not our sowls recoil back on space and time, feeble and forlorn, and sore afraid! But God has given us imaginations, sir, wherewith to beautify and glorify into celestial and abiding tabernacles, terrestrial vapours in their ain nature evanescent as dreams! North. James, give me your hand, our friendship is strong and sacred.

Shepherd. The shows o' natur, sir, are a' mere types; but there's nae sin, sir-be assured there's nae sin, sir, in looking on the type even as if it were the thing-the thocht typified; for such seems to be the natur o' the human sowl, weak, weak, weak, sir, even in its greatest strength, and relying on the senses for support even in its maist spiritual communings, and maist holy worship o' Him that inhabiteth Eternity.

North. Poetry-Philosophy-Religion.

Shepherd. I canna conceive a mair sacred, a mair holy task, than that which a man taks upon himsel, when he sits doun to write the life and character of his brither man. Afore he begins to write the capital letter at the beginnin o' the first word, he ocht to hae sat mony a lang hour, a' by himsel, in his study, and to hae walked at eventide mony a lang hour, a' by himsel alang the flowings of some river (hoo life-like!) —and to hae lain awake during mony a lang hour o' the nightwatches, and especially then a' by himsel-meditating on the duty he has undertaken to perform, and comparin or contrastin, as it may be, what he may conjecture to hae been the character o' his brither, whom God has called to judgment, wi' what he must ken to be the character o' his ain sel, whom God next moment may call to his dread account. A'men hae mair nor an inklin o' their warst evil propensities, and their ain warst sins. When religion and philosophy speak o' the difficulty o' kennin ane's ain heart, they mean anither thing a'thegither; an' though an awfu' and a fearfu' thing, not to my present purpose, and to be haunled by me anither nicht, in anither discourse.

North. Why, you are giving us a sermon, James.

Shepherd. An' pray, sir, is there ony reason in the natur o' things why you should hae a' the preachin to yoursel? Noo, sir, I say that the beeographer wha acts thus will never cease

EVIL PASSIONS.

85

hearing a solemn whisper, as if direck frae Heaven—and it is frae Heaven fillin, but no disturbin his ear- "Do unto others that which thou wouldst they should do unto thee!" O, sir! hoo universal is the application-at a' times—at a' seasons-to a' the meeserable race o' man-o' thae divine words! Hoo are they forgotten! In the passion o' action, gin I may sae speak, there seems amaist some excuse, drawn frae the constitution o' our natur, for the sound o' that heavenly voice being drooned amang the waves. But when a's calm aboon and aroun'-naething nor naebody troublin us —and yet the sense o' our ain sins as prevalent in our privacy as our sense o' the mercy o' the Most High towards us sinners -by what mysterious agency comes it about, that even then, wi' the cawnle twinklin peacefully afore us, like a bit starnie, through the glimmer o' our midnicht chaumer, and

"The wee bit ingle blinkin bonnily,"

and no a fit stirrin in a' the house, but the four feet o' some hungry, yet no unhappy moosie, gliding cannily alang the carpet in search o' some crumbs that may hae faʼn ahint a chair-0, sir! whence comes the thocht or the feelin o' evil in the heart o' a man at sic an hour as this, when, if ever guardian angels may be permitted to leave their celestial bowers for homes of earth, weel micht we howp to lie aneath the shadow o' the wings o' sic holy visitants! Yet, nae door flies open-nae wa' sinks-nor enter in, in visible troops, the Fiends and the Furies. But what ca' ye Envy, and Jealousy, and Malice, and Anger, and a' the rest o' the Evil Passions, that, as if gifted wi' ubiquity and perpetual presence, clutch our verra conscience by the hair o' the head, and bendin back its neck, break its very spine, till it's murdered or maimed, in death or dwaum-and oh! mercy! what a hubbub noo amang a' the desperate Distractions! Sometimes they sit upon the sowl, tearin out its een, like ravens or vultures

North. James, enough! The truth shocks and sickens. Shepherd. Weel, then, descend a' at ance frae thae maist fearsome hichts, commandin a bird's-eye view o' the empiry o' Sin and Evil

North. Miltonic.

Shepherd. And merely ask yoursel, what wunner it was that sic a man as our freen John Galt, in general an excellent fal

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THE SHEPHERD'S TRUE CHARACTER.

low, should hae been beguiled-betrayed-by some o' the meaner agencies, the lower spirits, to—————

North. Compose No. I. of the "National Library!"

Shepherd. Just sae—and there's an anticlimax for you—wi' a vengeance and a thud! But when we first got on this topic, some hour or sae sin' syne, at the commencement o' this jugWhat's this I was intendin to say? Ou ay. It was, that you ken ma character by havin aften studied it in sic moods and seasons. Noo, I was a few minutes ago describin a roasted guse-wi' a' the zest o' a glutton whose imagination was kindled by his pallet. And at that moment as sincere was I as ever you beheld me when standin by the side o' some great loch, and gazing on the sun sinking behind the mountains. But what care I, sir, for a' the guses that ever was roasted? No ae single strae. Gie me a bit cheese and bread when I am hungry, and I will say grace ower't, sittin by some spring amang the hills, wi' as gratefu' a heart as ever yearned in a puir sinner's breist towards the Giver o' a' mercies. Nae objections hae I-why sud I?—to a jug o' toddy, especially, sir, sittin cheek-by-jowl wi' auld Christopher. But mony and mony a day o' drivin rain and blashin sleet and driftin snaw hae I been out frae morn till nicht amang the hills—ay, sir, frae nicht till morn―a' thro' the wild sughing hours o' the mirk nichts o' winter, without ever thinkin o' spirits in the shape o' whisky ony mair than if in this weary world there never had been ae single still! Sumphs-base insolent sumphs—say I, sir, that dare to insult the Shepherd at his Glenlivet with the king of men. Has the aipple o' my ee, sir, tint' ae hue o' its brichtness, or shows it one blood-shot streak or stain o' intemperance? Has the aipple o' my cheek, sir, tint ae hue o' its ruddiness, or shows it one blotch or pimple o' excess either in eatin or drinkin? Damn the Cockney cooards and calumni

awtors

North. Unclench your hairy fist, my beloved Shepherd, and let me see thee smile again as sweetly as if singing a song to the Queen of the Fairies among the tomans of her ancient woods.

Shepherd. Hatred o' hypocrisy sets my blood in a low, and converts it, for a space, "brief as the lightning in a collied night," into liquid fire. Here, sir, here, in this our dearly-be2 Toman-a knoll, a thicket.

1 Tint--lost.

3 Low-blaze.